


Partial Fractures

by toucanpie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27898354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toucanpie/pseuds/toucanpie
Summary: After Obadiah Stane wrests control of Stark Industries, he sends Tony out to teach at Columbia as his pet professor. There Tony meets undergrad Peter Parker who's willing to do anything for a shot at an exclusive summer placement.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 80
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	Partial Fractures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [textbookchoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbookchoices/gifts).



> This diverges from canon during IM1 with the premise that Obie was successful in getting the board to ditch Tony as CEO and decided not to try and kill him again as a result.

It's a ninety foot drop off the top of the roof. Not much of an problem if you happen to be wearing a pair of repulsor boots, but Tony isn't. Hasn't done for a long time. He feels their absence more on winter evenings, when the cold air and the darkness seems like an invitation to disappear off the face of the world for awhile.

Somewhere two floors down the lights in the lab are still on and his RA's latest draft is open on his computer, waiting for his notes. 

She was kind of killing it this semester. 

Which made one of them.

He has a lecture to give tomorrow morning to a bunch of bright-eyed freshmen on robotics systems. It's the closest thing he has to a favorite class but he still can't bring himself to look over the course notes. He doesn't feel dynamic enough for Dynamic Programming. Not with the lingering memory of lunch with Obie still bouncing about in his head.

 _Another year, Tony._ He was good at letting the news drop softly, accompanied by a nice bottle of Merlot. _The board want you back and so do I, but things are delicate, you know? Doesn't help that there's rumors about how you play around on campus._

How he _played around_. Like Obie wasn't the one to suggest he entertain the odd post-grad in the first place, like Obie wasn't the one to say they were some perks about being in image rehab. Purgatory. Exile. He's not sure which one it is anymore or what to believe. Financial projections that say SI is better off without him? Or those read between the lines emails from Pepper that suggest everything might not be okay?

He gets halfway to caring before he remembers Obie has his head on a neat chopping block. _Nobody wants a CEO with PTSD who drinks too much, Tony. The DOD are still angry, Tony. Nobody wants a civilian flying around in their warzone, Tony._ Not even the CEO's best friend wants him when he does that.

Yeah.

One more year. Maybe if he says it enough times it'll pass quicker.

**

"Professor Stark?"

The rapping at his office door won't go away. He's not even officially _in_ right now and it still won't go away. Which means it has to be a undergrad who doesn't know how Tony Stark's non-existent office hours work. One who clearly has too much time on their hands.

"What?" he snaps, yanking the door open after another three and a half minutes of persistent knocking.

There's a startled looking teenager out there.

"Go away," Tony says bluntly. "If you need something, email. I'm not actually here, I'm just a figment of your imagination."

He tries to close the door, but the kid puts his palm up just in time to stop it closing, then props his foot in the gap.

"I know it's not your normal office hours, Professor Stark, but I just need to talk to you about one thing -"

The kid must have arms of steel because try as he might, Tony cannot get the door to budge more than an inch.

"Make it snappy."

"It's about your Industry class, I know it's full but I -"

"Nope," Tony says, before they can get to the impassioned plea part of the ceremony. He has this conversation ten times at the beginning of every semester. "Sorry, that class is oversubscribed, no more places, better luck with something else."

He puts his shoulder behind the door and gives it a shove. When that doesn't work, he lets go of it entirely and watches with a little jolt of mean joy as the kid stumbles forward into his office, almost colliding with him.

"Professor Stark -"

"That's what you get for not going away when I asked you to." He makes a shooing motion with his hands to drive the point home harder.

"I'm Peter Parker," the kid blurts out, sticking out his right hand.

"Great, why does -"

"I won the design competition that Stark Industries sponsored? At my high school, I mean. You signed a certificate for me, or maybe that was just printed, I don't know. But Mr Stane came to my school for the presentation and when I said I was applying here, he said he'd put in a word for me. Here. With um - you. To get on your industry class. The one that -"

"I know which class you mean," Tony says, a little taken aback by the sudden onslaught of information. That class wasn't so much oversubscribed as it was deliberately exclusive. As in mostly for the kids of Obie's rich friends who were willing to trade favors as long as their stupid darlings managed to get credit in _something_.

It wasn't the kind of class for kids who won high school science prizes. It even had a stupid long title that indicated it was just for people interested in a well-paying desk job that would never see them doing actual science.

"Plenty of other classes out there. Pick something else that takes your fancy."

"But Professor Stark -" God, the kid has the widest eyes Tony has ever seen. "I really wanted - I mean, please could you consider taking one more person? I promise I'm a great student. I graduated high school early, I work two jobs so I -"

"Two jobs? Sounds like you won't have time for my class."

For the first time in ten minutes, Peter Parker goes completely silent. He's got a stubborn tilt to his chin but his eyes are looking less confident, less energetic. More like he might be about to crack and leave Tony in peace.

"Please," Peter Parker says, quietly, his hand clenching by his side. "I'll find the time. You won't regret it."

He looks like a dog that's just been kicked. Like someone who's just had their spine broken and realised they're not too proud to beg.

"Fine," Tony snaps. Fine, he'll have one pity student on his Nepotism 101 class and when the kid realises exactly what sort of class it is, he'll do them both a favor and drop it. Problem solved. "Now go away, I have things to grade."

Peter Parker's mouth drops open and then he almost trips over his own feet turning around. 

"Thank you, Professor Stark. I meant it, you won't -"

"Just go," Tony says, with a little less bite. "We don't want you to be late to either one of your jobs."

**

Peter Parker likes to sit on the front row. He even appears to take notes on his battered laptop while all his peers check Instagram on their Macbook Airs.

Worse, he likes to hang round after class and ask questions. Which is a joke because anyone could pass the class, a fourth grader could pass the class. A baby could pass the class because Tony has to have half a bottle of scotch before he writes the exam each year to make sure the idiots Obie sends his way actually have a chance of getting through it.

"Did you have a chance to read my paper, Professor Stark?"

Tony takes a very deep breath and ignores the stifled giggles of the trio leaving the room just behind Peter.

"I don't think you're quite getting it, kid," Tony says. He deliberately doesn't look up from packing away his own laptop.

"I know it wasn't required and that you don't normally do extra credit, Professor Stark but -"

"Look, Peter." Wow, go him, remembering names and everything. "Here's how this class works. If you want to turn up, then you can turn up. If you want to write papers, you leave them on the desk and Avery looks at them for me. At the end of the semester I'm sure you'll find you've done great. And -" what the hell, maybe it would help shake the kid off. "If you're really desperate for an A+, ask your peers about Friday nights at the club."

He adds a wink just in case the message hasn't got through. Peter freezes like a siren just sounded, then he blushes red like he did earlier that week in Tony's office, ducking his head.

"Alright there, Mr Parker?" Tony says drily. Maybe they're finally getting somewhere and Peter will start giving him the wide berth he deserves.

Peter looks everywhere but at him as he nods hastily.

"Okay thanks," he says clumsily. "Good day, I mean good class. It was a good class. That you did, thank you."

His eyes settle for a brief moment on Tony's and then he seems to flush even deeper red. He knocks a pen off Tony's desk as he turns for the door but manages to catch it just before it hits the ground. He's straightens up and hands it over to Tony, his fingers warm and clammy in Tony's palm. 

"Sorry," he mutters. "Oh - um."

It takes the 'um' for Tony to realise he'd automatically closed his hand around the pen and managed to catch Peter's fingers too. 

He releases them promptly, clearing his throat. "Great, see you next class."

"Sure," Peter says. He takes a step backwards this time rather than turning, looking at Tony with his pretty flushed cheeks as he does. Graduated from high school early, Tony reminds himself, even as part of him wonders what Peter Parker would look like on his knees, working hard for a better grade. Can't have been by more than a year, but still - too young, no go zone.

"Run along now," he says, like he's bored. He usually is.

**

The last thing he's expecting to find at the club on Friday is Peter Parker, looking painfully out of place, but well, apparently wonders never cease.

"Well, that is unexpected," he says to himself, deliberately angling his body in the opposite direction. Maybe the kid's just there to hang out with his charming hipster classmates. Maybe he has a fake ID and just wants a drink like everyone else. None of Tony's concern.

He slides off his seat at the bar and heads towards the other side of the room, where Avery is sat frowning at her phone. It had taken a lot of wheedling to get her out and as paying for her drinks is pretty much the only thing he has to offer in terms of pastoral care, he tries to make an effort once in a while. If the department's best research assistant quits, he might actually have to pull his finger out and do something resembling what he's paid for and that doesn't appeal at all.

Not, of course, that they pay him much. Which is all the more reason to spend it all on alcohol and the most awful artwork he can find to gift people he hates.

"Professor Stark?"

He braces himself against a random stranger in the crowd before turning.

"Sorry, do I know you?" he says.

Peter Parker ducks his head awkwardly. "It's Peter, Mr Stark. I mean Professor Stark, sorry."

"Just stop," Tony says, pitching his voice louder to be heard above the music. "Go home. Don't make me tell the bar staff how old you are."

The last thing he needs is a doe-eyed seventeen year old following him around all evening. He almost adds 'this is grown-up time' but Peter Parker looks more grown-up under the dim lights, his hair slicked back like he's trying to impress someone, the first button on his white shirt left undone. Now there's no backpack, it wouldn't actually be all that hard to forget he's a student. Like it wouldn't be hard to clock the way his eyelashes look when he glances down, like it wouldn't be hard to pretend he was just eager waitstaff looking for a quick distraction.

For a moment, want tugs at Tony's gut.

 _One more year_ , Obie's voice echoes in his head again. One more year where he desperately needs distractions. One more year of moments of light-headed pleasure doing things he shouldn't do with anonymous pretty faces. 

Not this one, though, he tells himself firmly.

Peter Parker's pretty face doesn't hold the coy knowledge half his classmates' faces do. That tentative look in his eyes suggests he does _not_ know his way around casual sex. It says he's probably more accustomed to holding hands beneath tables and doing slow dances at prom.

Tony waves off whatever it is Peter opens his mouth to say and points firmly in the direction of the door. When Peter tries to talk again, he claps his hands over his ears and goes back to the bar.

Plenty more pretty fish in the sea.

**

He weaves his way back to Avery's table fifteen minutes later, already bored of the wide eyed chatter from people who remember his name, remember all the scandals, want to know whether he really did _that_ with _them_.

(Yes, he did. He definitely, probably, maybe, did).

He swings himself into the booth too late to spot that Peter Parker is also sat there, in the shadows, apparently taking notes about something Avery is telling him.

Traitor, he almost wants to say to her. She shouldn't have let him in, but then he didn't tell her not to, so -

Like she senses him staring at her, she looks up and then with a wry glance at Peter, starts sliding out of the booth.

"No," Tony says, but it comes out so quiet he doesn't think she hears. 

"Thanks for the drinks," she yells, just like she always does. "I'm going now, everything about this place is awful."

"I know," Tony mouths. But it's dark, see? And he likes the music.

"Hey, Professor Stark," Peter says, the moment she's gone.

Tony sighs. There was a self-identifying slut at the bar who he'd been swapping stories with. She'd been keeping pace with him too, dirty anecdote for dirty anecdote. He should've invited her home.

"Look," Peter say determinedly. "I know there's a summer placement, okay? And that it's - it's competitive. But I just want you to know that I really want it."

"Uh huh," Tony says, wishing that the room would start spinning already so that he could be sure this conversation won't make it into his permanent memory.

"So - I mean, if there's anything I can do -"

"Go home," Tony says. The summer placement at Stark Industries is decided entirely by Obie, based entirely on how much someone's parents are willing to pay in favors or cold hard cash. It's entirely disgusting and every year he goes along with like a good pet professor and gets very drunk afterwards.

But then every year he hits some kind of rock bottom and realises everyone gets exactly what they deserve in life. 

If he was a better person, a stronger person, then he'd give it to someone else, announce the name in public so there's nothing that can be done about it, pick someone who might actually deserve it, pretend it was admin error, something. Then he remembers that if he were a better person he would be back at the Tower, standing up to the board. He'd be doing more than waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares twice a week, he'd have invented whatever it's going to take to stop the tremor in his right hand every time he thinks about what he built in Afghanistan, what he started building down in the basement.

"Go home," he says again, though this time, he thinks the words might be for himself.

**

He opens his email the next day to find nestling amongst the normal trash one from a p.parker stating his interest in being considered for the summer placement, with a copy of his resume and a covering letter attached.

He hovers with his mouse over the covering letter for two long minutes before he clicks. Somehow he thinks it might hurt to press down and open it up. Like reading Peter's naively enthusiastic little words might actually somehow do him some ill.

It doesn't. He scans it once, picking out the mentions of achievements, of robotics club and debate team.

Peter Parker is miles ahead of the rest of his class academically. And he's part right, reading it does make him feel a little sick.

When he's done, his feet seem to move of their own accord. On his desk somewhere is a printed copy of whatever homework Peter assigned himself after that first class. Whatever piece of the course he thought was important enough to write two thousand words about.

When he's done with _that_ , the nauseous feeling in his stomach has shifted to something that a feels a lot more stable. Possibly rebellious.

It still takes a surprising amount of time to let himself hit reply on the email and type out a response. He tells himself it's because it's been so long since had someone with even half of Parker's intellect that he doesn't know what to do.

**

_Okay you made the shortlist_ , he writes in the email. _I want to hear a full proposal for how you'd handle the attached. Ask Avery for my address. One chance, kid. Don't be late._

**

When the doorbell rings at exactly 6pm a week later, a strange mixture of dread and anticipation settles in Tony's stomach. He pauses with his hand on the door handle for a second before he twists it open to let Peter in. 

It's been such a long time since anyone could genuinely touch his conscience, he doesn't know quite what to do with it now that it's apparently awake and able to spot genuine talent again. 

"Hey," he says, waving Peter in.

"Professor Stark," Peter says, nodding respectfully as he steps inside.

He looks smart. His hair is combed back again and his pants look like somebody might've actually spent money on them, unlike the ones he wears to class. There's a white shirt collar peeking out the top of his jacket, and when he hurriedly unzips that, it reveals what Tony would put money on being the same shirt from the nightclub. 

Tony accepts the jacket when it's handed to him and places it on the coat rack next to the door, hanging it alongside the three hundred dollar jacket from his own wardrobe. Each garment succeeds in making the other look entirely out of place.

Maybe Peter realises that at the same moment, because he toes his shoes against the welcome mat and apologises.

"For what?" Tony asks.

"I don't know?" 

Peter gives a lopsided shrug and smiles. He looks painfully earnest, like he genuinely wants to make a good impression, as if Tony's opinion might actually count for something to him.

"Um," Peter says again, possibly because Tony is staring at him like he's a stranger. "I'm not late, am I?"

"You are not late," Tony confirms, giving himself a mental shake. "Living room's on the right, make yourself comfortable, I'm going to grab some water."

Peter takes an awkward sidestep in the right direction. "Cool. I'll just - sit somewhere?"

"That's what people usually do in there."

**

Once he stops pausing every few seconds to look at Tony for approval, Peter's proposal goes from strength to strength. He talks about hydro-dams, about energy storage, about something micro that he says so fast even Tony can't quite catch it. It doesn't matter, Tony knows after five minutes that he's more than smart enough to cut it wherever he wants to go, smart enough to deserve it, too.

Towards the end, when Peter runs out of his scribbled cards, his enthusiasm dies down. Eventually he's just standing there, clutching his notes, waiting. On Tony to lift him up or dash his dreams with a few words.

"Great stuff," Tony manages, both unwilling and unable to part with more. He means it too, which is a slight problem. He hasn't said anything he really means in about three years.

Luckily Peter doesn't look disheartened by the faint praise, smiling at Tony so genuinely and easily it makes it very difficult not to smile back.

"Thank you."

It's the point where Tony ought to reassure him of his surprising intellect, of what is going to be his inevitable, shiny bright future. The words still won't quite come out.

Peter nods once into the silence and then sits down on the edge of the couch, directly opposite Tony.

Normally when students visit Tony in his house, this is the point where they either leave or in special cases do things like spread their legs to show him their lack of panties.

Peter just swallows and says: "I like your house."

It breaks Tony's stupor. He rubs his hands against his knees with a wry smile. "It's alright, we don't have to do small talk."

"Oh."

Peter's smile fades and all of a sudden it's awkward again. Tony clears his throat and stands up.

"I'm going to get some more water. You want anything for the road?"

"No, thanks," Peter says. He stands up too, but thankfully stays where he is as Tony retreats to the kitchen to painstakingly fill his glass with more ice cold water.

When he comes back, Peter is in front of his bookcase, reading the back cover of a hardback somebody made the mistake of sending Tony for review purposes.

"These are some really cool books," Peter says without looking up.

"Are they?"

Peter nods, his body seeming to tick with nervous energy as he turns the book over. "Can I look inside?"

Tony feels an eyebrow twitch with humor and a bit of tension dissipates from his shoulders. "Do your worst. Though you do have a home to go to, right?"

"Oh," Peter says. He stops opening the book and instead seems to automatically fold it up into his chest, looking a little sad. "Yeah, I guess."

"C'mon them," Tony says, taking pity on them both and reaching out for the book. "You peaked about twenty minutes ago talking about hydro-electrics. Time you went home."

Peter reluctantly hands the book over but doesn't otherwise move. "You don't want to talk about anything else?"

He's not particularly subtle. Not with the way he clutches at his own elbows and not with the way his eyes dart to Tony's crotch.

"Nothing that I can think of."

"Nothing?" Peter says. His tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip. "At all?"

Tony tosses the book onto the chair behind him, wishing for a moment he'd just done this on campus.

"Look, whatever I implied before, or you heard from someone else, is just a joke, okay?"

Peter's eyes drift downwards. "No it isn't," he says, softly.

Tony swallows past an uncomfortable lump in his throat. "No, it isn't."

Peter looks back up more determinedly and takes a step closer.

"It's okay, really, I know this is how it works."

"No, you don't."

Peter flinches, managing to look both determined and hurt at the same time. "Yes, I do."

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and in that moment, there's something about him that Tony doesn't know how to label. He's too artless, too honest, too stubborn. Tony doesn't deserve to lay a single finger on him but he wants to. He wants to trace that obstinate chin, to kiss his way along Peter's ear, to hold him a little too tight and fuck him a little too hard and leave a possessive bite mark somewhere on his surprisingly strong shoulders.

Peter takes a tiny step towards him.

"I just really want to be on the shortlist for the internship."

"You're on the shortlist, go home."

"Top of the list?"

The question hangs between them and Peter steps even closer still, reaching out for one of Tony's hands and tentatively placing his fingers against the back of it, just resting, waiting.

"I want to be top of the list," he says quietly.

Tony rues the day that he ever met him, twisting his hand just enough that he feels Peter's fingers move against his skin.

"So does everyone, kiddo."

Peter flushes and looks down. Sweet, so sweet. And suddenly all Tony can think is how he would make sweet breathy sighs if he was in Tony's bed. How they could be wrung out of him one by one, over and over again from dusk right until dawn.

Peter shifts closer again, and this time it's him that moves his fingers against Tony's hand, the gentle touch waking Tony up all over again.

"You should go home," Tony says, in a last ditch effort to do the right thing. "I want you to."

"No, you don't," Peter says. His fingers slip up across Tony's hand and tuck just under the sleeve of his shirt, then slide all the way round to touch the inside of Tony's wrist, like he's seeking out a pulse. 

Tony sways forward, utterly fucked, and breathes out against Peter's mouth. "No, I don't."

**

Peter's hand trembles as he reaches for Tony's tie and tugs it. Before Tony can analyse that properly, say stop, say 'come on, this isn't a good idea', Peter uses their closeness to brush their noses together, his mouth only a hairsbreadth from Tony's.

"I haven't ever -" he says.

Tony covers his mouth with two fingers before he can say any more. If he hears Peter say the words 'done this before' he'll have to make himself stop and he's not sure he has enough willpower to stop.

Peter pauses and then kisses the fingers in-front of his mouth, looking up from beneath his lashes hesitantly, like he's not sure whether he's being sexy or not.

It's painfully sexy. Like someone tossed a hook at Tony's chest and it sunk right into him and tugged him hard.

He gives up on his last sensible train of thought and uses both hands to run his thumbs along Peter's cheekbones, just to feel him. 

"Bedroom's upstairs," he says hoarsely, but he doesn't move, can't make himself take his hands off Peter's face or make the first step towards the stairs.

For all the absent thoughts of Peter on his knees, mouth wet and open, it's no longer even half enough. He wants to be naked and pressed up against Peter instead, needs to be inside him and making him sob with how good it feels.

**

"Say uncle now if you're going to," Tony says, as he climbs naked onto the bed. Peter's eyes are so wide he looks like a startled rabbit, but he'd kissed back on the stairs, relaxed just enough under Tony's hands to get this far.

"Last chance," he adds. "If you don't, we're going to get a lot more acquainted."

"Okay," Peter says quietly, his chest rising and falling a little faster. 

On the stairs, with Peter pressed between him and the wall, Tony was pretty sure he'd felt the start of an erection against his hip, but if that was the case, it's gone now. Not that Peter becomes any less appealing with his cock lying soft between his thighs. If anything it's an invitation to slowly ramp things back up, coaxing Peter back to how he'd been a minute ago, his hips starting to loosen and flex as Tony'd held him tight.

Tony carefully shuffles his way up the bed, putting his legs either side of Peter's body but not touching him yet. Peter closes his eyes briefly when he finally reaches out to touch, but then he nods, eyes open again and blinking rapidly, his chin wobbling just for a second. Somewhere, dimly, it makes Tony feel like a bad person, but not bad enough to stop.

"Okay," he murmurs softly, taking care to be gentle when slides his palm over Peter's chest. "Don't feel guilty if you want to spend the next thirty minutes pretending I'm someone else you like better."

Peter shakes his head, still looking like he might just be about to cry. "It's okay, Professor Stark, I like you."

"No, you don't," Tony says, reaching for the light. Nobody does, not really, because very few people have actually met Tony Stark. "Or if you do like me, you're making bad choices."

It seems fitting that darkness falls over the room as he says it. For a moment, everything is perfectly still. He knows where Peter is, flat on his back, his body laid out between Tony's knees, but he can't see him. 

He feels his way up to the smooth line of Peter's collarbone and then follows it inward to that little dip just beneath his throat. Peter swallows but he doesn't say or do anything to stop him, so Tony carries on upwards, stroking his thumb from that little dip of bone right up to the underside of Peter's chin. When he tilts it upwards, Peter goes with it with a tiny exhale of air. He holds Peter's head there, waiting to be pushed him away or told to get it over with, but Peter holds perfectly still.

Anticipation bubbles eagerly beneath Tony's skin and he leans down and breathes hot air over Peter's neck, then kisses just below where his fingers are. Peter tenses and then shudders, his skin rippling beneath Tony's lips and his breath going jagged.

"Okay," Tony murmurs, noting the reaction. This he knows how to do.

He nuzzles into the skin of Peter's neck, taking a moment to remind himself it's possible he might be the first person to do it. Then he starts mouthing his way along Peter's neck up towards his ear. Peter shifts like he doesn't know whether to go with it or fight it. When Tony takes his earlobe in his mouth and bites down gently down, Peter makes a choked sound, his hips flexing upwards.

An subtle buzz starts to build in Tony's chest. He lowers himself down onto one elbow so he can let his lower body slowly settle over Peter's. The skin on skin contact makes the hairs on his arm prickle and his cock throb. Peter twitches and starts to move like he wants to shuffle up the bed, but when Tony settles his hands on Peter's hips, he stops and holds still. 

Tony shifts his weight until he's comfortable and Peter freezes with a choked sound when his cock touches Tony's. He's not quite soft anymore, in fact Tony can feel the way he's starting to curve up, filling out with blood.

He smooths his hands reassuringly up Peter's sides and then shifts inwards until his fingers find Peter's nipples in the dark. He rolls over them with the pads of his thumbs, feeling them start to harden. A gentle pinch to the left one gets Peter's hips arching again.

"What," Peter gasps breathlessly, jerking his head up so abruptly Tony almost feels their foreheads knock.

Tony hmms, going to squeeze the other one a little harder. "You've never done that to yourself?

"Doesn't feel like that," Peter says, his voice gratifyingly warped. "Not when I -"

He trails off on a gasp that's almost a cry as Tony twists the right one just enough to ease in pleasure over into pain.

"Like that?"

"What are you -?" Peter's hand comes up to cover Tony's clumsily, settling over his fingers with a squeeze. "You don't have to. I thought -"

"What, that I'd just flip you over and fuck you?" Tony says, his mouth loosening with the heat curling through his body.

It's easy work to lift Peter's fingers away from his nipples and guide them up to tuck under the pillow. 

"I -" Peter's voice breaks when Tony drops his head and takes one tiny hard little nub into his mouth. When he uses his hand to play with the other one at the same time, Peter cries out for real and his body bucks.

A tiny bit of dampness smears warmly against Tony's stomach as Peter's cock definitely gets with the program. He pulls off after letting Peter have the tiniest tease of teeth.

"Okay, now we're having fun."

He blows over the wet nipple and enjoys the way it makes Peter shiver, and then the way that tremble rubs his cock against Tony's skin more.

He pulls back enough that he can get a hand into the space between them, tracing his way down Peter's stomach to find his cock and then curl his hand firmly and proprietorially around it. Peter gives a muffled cry like he's shoved his hand inside his mouth.

He strokes and coaxes Peter's cock, thumbing the slit and not letting go when Peter struggles at the intense sensation. When he does it again, more sticky pre-come slips out to wet his fingers. Peter makes an anguished noise, like the pleasure's too much or he doesn't want to admit to feeling it. Tony moves on, smearing a wet trail down Peter's cock and then gripping it firmly at the base, making a tight ring with his fingers just to feel the way it makes Peter push up and try to get the firm strokes back. He's so sensitive Tony's surprised he hasn't come by mistake yet, shooting all over himself before Tony even has a chance to get inside him.

"Holding out for me?" he murmurs, carrying on down to cup Peter's balls briefly before dragging a finger round behind them.

Peter freezes again, but Tony doesn't stop, fumbling for the lube with his other hand. When he finds it, he squeezes out more than enough over his fingers and then goes back to exploring until he finds Peter's hole. Peter makes a garbled sound as Tony nudges one fingertip just inside him. With his other hand wrapped back round Peter's cock to distract him, he adds just enough pressure to slide it in to the knuckle. It goes in steadily, Peter only making a small sound of protest as Tony strokes him carefully. He's warm inside, silky smooth and tight around Tony's finger, like his body was made to be slowly and thoroughly fucked just the way Tony plans to do it.

He pulls his finger out halfway and then starts sliding it back and forth, mimicking exactly what he plans to do with his cock.

He hears the change in Peter's breathing as he realises he's being finger fucked. It's enough to make Tony's cock throb almost painfully. He squeezes Peter tight while he slides a second finger up against his first, then holds his breath just to hear the way Peter cries out as they penetrate him together.

He has a feeling he's going to be hearing those choked out first time noises in his dreams.

"Touch yourself," he says, slowing down his own hand and then releasing Peter's cock altogether.

Peter reaches down and their fingers touch briefly as Peter shakily takes over from him, wrapping his hand around himself with a little sigh.

Tony works his fingers deeper in, rubbing at Peter's rim with his thumb as he feels around for the condom with his free hand. He finds it half tucked under Peter's side, warm from being so close to his skin. He rips it open and then rolls it on himself, taking a moment to enjoy the anticipation.

He manoeuvres Peter's legs out to the side and lines himself up, pulling his fingers out before Peter has the chance to think too much about it. He presses forward steadily, only just hearing Peter's high whine as his brain starts to fizz from the feeling of his cock sinking into Peter's tightness.

Peter starts to scrabble and he leans forward automatically as his cock slides deeper into the warmth. He blindly pets at Peter sides and lets himself murmur something soothing until he's all the way in, Peter breathing jackrabbit-fast in his ear.

"Just the tip," he jokes breathlessly, entranced by the way Peter feels around him, impossibly sweet and snug.

He surprised when out of nowhere hands feel out his face and then cup it, guiding him upwards.

"Can you?" Peter says. At least one of his hands are trembling and Tony can feel his stomach muscles bunched up tense.

He doesn't usually kiss them, not on their mouths anyway. But there's something about Peter Parker.

Tony kisses him close-mouthed, softly. Maybe he went too fast getting inside. Peter tilts his face to one side and cautiously kisses him back, his lips dry and soft against Tony's. He clings with his hands when Tony pulls back to breathe, so Tony lets himself be tugged back into the kiss, letting his hips slide back and then forward again. It has him slowly pushing into Peter again, almost as good as the first time even though it makes Peter tense all over again. He bites down on his own bottom lip so Tony kisses it, teasing it free of Peter's teeth and sucking it into his own mouth until he feels Peter's stomach relax just a little.

Tony shifts his weight onto his left hand and reaches down between them to find Peter's abandoned cock. Peter twists like he doesn't want to be touched so Tony's gentle with him there too, teasing him with light touches before he curls his fingers loosely around Peter and goes about coaxing him back to full hardness. 

Peter wriggles, his hot breath fanning over Tony's cheek as Tony keeps up a slow rocking in and out of him. It's like an obscene kind of torture, having to take it so steady when all he wants to do is fuck Peter into the bed and leave bite marks all over him. But at the same time, each slow slide back into Peter promises that there will be one more and another after that, over and over again like they could draw it out all night.

He drops his head to Peter's neck again, kissing where he can reach and then sucking lightly when Peter shivers. Little by little, Peter unwinds, Tony's thrusts becoming easier as Peter's body relaxes and welcomes him in.

When there's little smears of pre-come on his fist again, he sucks a little harder and starts to thrust in faster. It drives him in deeper but rather than flinch, Peter moans, taking him further and further in as Tony lets himself slowly speed up. He feels the moment he finds Peter's prostrate because Peter hands clutch at the back of his head and his whole body twitches. He angles for the same place again and Peter moans, low and throaty.

Peter's legs come up and try and wrap round him and he speeds up his own hand on Peter's cock, feeling himself creep closer to orgasm.

"Please," Peter says, like he's finally forgotten his shyness. He tosses his head back and forth on the pillow, just visible in the dark.

There's no choice but to fuck him faster, sweat slicking their thighs and starting to bead on the back of Tony's neck.

He keeps up a punishing pace until Peter's arching and sobbing, his cock spurting in Tony's hand and shooting wetness right up his chest.

Tony lets himself go and fucks into Peter until his vision goes dark and his cock is pulsing inside the condom, a perfect wet heat all around him.

**

Tony's glad for the dark, afterwards. It makes it easier to reconcile himself to the slight uncomfortable feeling of regret in his stomach.

Peter has spoken at all, not even when Tony eased out of him as gently as possible and wiped him down. Normally his casual partners leave at this point, or go help themselves to the contents of his fridge and then leave. Not that he hasn't also had the odd person who attempted to initiate a cuddle, but that's easy enough to roll away from.

Peter Parker doesn't seem likely to initiate anything but more silence. Tony turns towards him, propping himself up on one shoulder. There's a joke on the tip of his tongue, an instinct to ask for marks out of ten, but it just won't come.

"Professor Stark?" Peter says, turning inwards too.

"Present and correct, how's it going?"

"Um," Peter says. The sheets rustle as he moves around again. "I don't know. Should I leave? I think I need to shower."

After a moment of startled silence, Tony laughs. The uncomfortable feeling backs off a bit.

"You should absolutely shower. How you doing otherwise?"

"I don't know? Fine, I guess. Weird. Fine."

Tony reaches backwards for his bedside light switch without giving it too much thought. Analysis of the situation can only be properly carried out when he can see. That or for some reason he actually wants to see Peter Parker's face.

Peter blinks as the soft light fills the room. He looks like a mess. His hair no longer even resembles something that might have seen a comb. It's loose and looks, perhaps unsurprisingly, like someone ran their hands through it a few hundred times. Down from the very obvious sex hair, his whole face is flushed and his eyes are bright, wide-awake.

No tear tracks. So - maybe he's not a monster?

"Professor Stark?"

"Huh?" Tony says. He might not be a full monster, but he's not an angel, that's for sure. "What do you need?"

"Was that -" Peter trails off.

"Okay?" Tony fills in. "I don't know, what do you think?"

"Oh." Peter still apparently has a deeper blush in him. "I don't know. I'm sorry if I was too loud or -"

Tony leans over and kisses him. He's not sure, even as he does it, where it comes from. Just a need to interrupt, to cut to the quick with a physical version of 'no, no you weren't too loud'. 

Peter doesn't so much kiss back as he just tilts his head into it, like he's a little unsure. Tony pulls back with an embarrassed clearing of his throat.

"Sorry, kid, you go have a shower, I'll wait."

Peter waits a second before replying. "Okay."

He swings his legs out the bed hesitantly and then sits up, but doesn't get any further. "I know you probably don't want to do it again and I don't know if I - I don't know, but will you still talk to me? About class, I mean. It's not going to be weird or like I can't talk to you, is it?"

Tony can't be all monster, because that last question definitely pulls at his heartstrings.

"Yeah, kid. Of course we can talk. If you still want to in twenty-fours hours, anyway."

"I'm pretty sure I will," Peter says, looking over his shoulder. "I mean, yeah. I think." 

He grabs at pants from the floor and awkwardly slides them up his legs. 

"See you in a minute, then, I guess," Peter says, standing up.

"See you in a minute," Tony repeats. There's a certain bravery in the way Peter walks determinedly into the bathroom and Tony has a certain admiration for it. Maybe if Peter Parker is still talking to him after twenty-four hours he can sort something better than a measly summer placement. He still has a few techy friends. Or there's Rhodey - he should talk to Rhodey.

He'll find something good for the kid.


End file.
